Across Time
by GenoaLexia22
Summary: Post CoLS. Magnus has thrown himself into his work in an effort to keep his mind off Alec. He did not expect to end up caught up in the effects of a potion brewed for one of his clients.
1. Chapter 1

Magnus Bane was pacing his Brooklyn appartment in the middle of the night, inwardly fuming. He hated vampires, with their ridiculous ideas and old-fashioned clothes, why they felt the need to dress in the clothes that were (barely) in fashion in the decade they were born was beyond him. He hated Argus Renfield in particular. Partly for being the cause of his late-night pacing and partly for wearing ugly shoes. 

Half an hour earlier, Argus Renfield had arrived for his appointment with Magnus. Twenty minutes late. Having glared at his shoes and stroked Chairman Meow in a menacing fashion, Magnus had finally asked him what it was he had wanted.

"A time-travelling potion." Magnus paused.

"While I would simply love to be able to whip one up and send you off the Middle Ages, Argus, no such thing exists. Now, if you would excuse me, I have to feed my cat and finally _get some rest_"

"No!" The vampire had squawked. "There must be something you can do - I need to go back and-"

"Tell your one true love how you really feel?" Magnus finished, sardonically.

"Not quite," Argus had stuttered, before rambling off some tale of sorrow which Magnus did not bother himself to listen to. He did, however, make appropiately sympathetic noises at random intervals - no one could accuse him of being uncaring. Something had caught his attention though.

"Sorry, what was that?", he'd inquired. The vampire sighed in a heart-wrenching manner.

"I said 'If only I could just see her again'"

"Now, that I can do," Magnus smiled, "it won't be cheap, mind."

"I will be eternally grateful for anything you can do!" Argus had simpered. Magnus had then proceeded to kick him out. 

He still wasn't exactly sure why he had taken on this client; he hardly needed the money, although there was a new Dior line out soon... He mentally shook himself, the fact was he had taken on the case and, as such, needed to begin preparing his potion. He didn't really see why Argus had wanted it, though, perhaps he had not explained quite what it would do - send him back in time as an intangible being, unable to interact with anyone - simply watch. Oh well, as long as he was paid well, the job should satisfy. It would also, he hoped, keep his mind off Alexander.


	2. Chapter 2

One week later and Magnus was finally finished with Argus' potion. He had carefully bottled it and set it aside on the coffee table as he set down to write out the instructions.

- DO NOT DRINK THIS POTION

-This potion is to be poured onto the skin of the hand with which you write and left for one hour

-After this hour, wash your hands thoroughly

-Think of the time you wish to visit or the person you wish to see at that time

-Picture this image of where you want to go, clearly, for at least a minute

NB: You will be able only to observe the events and will return to the present when the potion has been used up

Putting the lid back on his pen, Magnus made a mental note to label the potion, which was an easily mistakeable blue colour. More that 60% of the potions Magnus had to make were blue. None of the ever compared to the colour of Alec's eyes thou- Magnus cut off that train of thought abruptly. He would not allow his mind to drift back to his shadowhunter. 'Not his,' Magnus reminded himself. 'Not anymore.'

The warlock sighed and selected a sleeping potions from the selection in his stock; he'd never needed them before but recently they'd become the only thing that could quell his nightmares, and the sleepwalking that tended to accompany them. His subconcious mind used those dreams to remind him of his constant terror that one day Alexander would be injured, with Magnus the only peron who could heal him, but he would not be informed because of his insistence of never becoming involved with Shadowhunters' affairs again, and Alec would die. The nightmares had started less than a week after what had happened in that New York subway tunnel and had come to him unrelentingly until he had grown tired of feeling his death each night and of continually waking up in random areas of his appartment and the city and had first brewed the potion.

Now he took a long drink before settling himself down on his bed and waiting for the blissful ignorance of sleep to take over him. Just as his vision was clouding with inky black, Magnus absently remembered that he had yet to feed Chairman Meow that day. That could wait until the morning, he supposed.

* * *

The next morning, Magnus woke to the now-familiar choking feeling of remembrance of the latest scar in his heart. If only there was a way to heal such hurt. His thoughts were heavy and thick, as though his head were filled with petrol, or demon ichor. Demon ichor. He'd often wondered if, perhaps, the darkest parts of him were, in fact, simply a result of the taint his father had left in his bloodstream. Maybe his countless actions which had inflicted pain upon so many, were merely times when his father had been working through him. Magnus doubted this though, it would be far too easy to blame all of his faults and shortcomings on his parentage.

He was dizzy and his stomach was twisted and burning. He knew what it meant. Magnus was no stranger to grief, after all. He also knew that once he had managed to gain sufficient coherence, he would convince himself to forget that his day had begun like this - it was much easier to continue living that way.

A soft meow gathered his attention and he turned slightly to see his beloved cat pushing the door open with a small, pink nose.

"Hello, darling," he greeted, the morning beginning to fade from his mind."Hungry are we?"

The cat purred in response. Magnus smiled the tiniest amount and softly storked the back of his head.

"Well let's get you some food then, eh?" He felt the animal's prescence soothe some of the ice in his heart.

Walking through to the kitchen, Magnus flicked his fingers and instantly dressed himself in an appropriately spectacular outfit. He poured some Iambs into a bowl for the Chairman and sat down on the couch to watch some Project Runway. His favourite designer, Cristina, had created a light, silk-and-chiffon conconction which looked beautiful on the elegantly long-limbed model as she sashayed down the catwalk. Magnus approved.

After an hour or so, the cat-eyed man was feeling as upbeat as he ever did these days and was awaiting his next client. At that moment, there was a beeping in his appartment, signifying the ringing of the bell downstairs. Having had a short conversation with the charming vampire woman and buzzing her in, Magnus ushered his cat out to the room, in order to create a feeling of professionalism. Some people may have said that, in order to look professional, you should probably not wear leather trousers and/or a lurid yellow, mesh top. Magnus was not one of those people.

Delilah Atwood was a relatively young vampire, standing at just over a century old. She was known for her ethereal looks and juxtaposing black eyes, though most did not know that these were due to the small amount of faerie blood in her lineage. Magnus had come to know her quite well during his time spent living in Tennesse (never again - no one could pull off that much tartan) in the seventies and as such, had been looking forward to seeing her since he had received her call asking for an appointment.

Her long, caramel-coloured hair brushed against Magnus' collarbone as she leaned forward to greet him with a kiss on each cheek.

"It's good to see you," She smiles, her voice carrying the tiniest hint of a Parisian accent - a clue as to where she had been since Magnus had seen her last.

"And you," Magnus replies, politely, offering her a biscuit from a tray he has just conjured. Delilah lets out a tinkling laugh.

"That will never cease to amaze me," She says of the warlock's magic, reaching for a custard cream. Magnus' eye catches on the silver band of her left hand before trying to tactfully look away. He did not know that she still wore it.

Although, he thought, it was probably stupid of him to have thought otherwise - Delilah's story was known to most Downworlders but it was likely that no one knew it with such details as Magnus did.

She had only been married a year when she was bitten, and subsequently turned, and was deeply in love with her husband. The vampire that had turned her, however, had wished for her to be a plaything, of some sort, for him; when Delilah had protested, the vampire had taken her husband and subjected him to relentless torture, telling her that he would only stop if she were to agree to go with him. Naturally, Delilah had done so but she had attempted to escape his clutches a few months after, killing him on the way. Even Magnus did not know the specifics of what had transpired after, only that it had led to the death of her husband and the start of her unending heartbreak.

Magnus, mentally shook himself and gave her a charming smile before asking her why it was she had requested this meeting.

"Oh it's nothing big," The vampire answered airily. "I was just hoping that you would be able to create some sort of potion to work as a permanent glamour - I am moving to London shortly and, with all its nightlife, am somewhat worried of the consequences, were someone to notice these fangs of mine." The warlock laughed.

"Well, that can definitely be done. I should have it ready by this time next week if you would like to collect it then?"

"Perfect," Delilah replied. "Thank you Magnus." She adds, softly, before turning to leave. The warlock nods in reply as the door clicks shut behind her. A glamour potion. That shouldn't be too difficult. He flicked his fingers and a book landed on his lap in a shower of sparks. Turning it to the appropriate page, he helped himself to a biscuit from the platter he had offered to Delilah and- oh. Another blue potion. Wonderful.

Magnus sighed and settled down to work.


	3. Chapter 3

**Next chapter (or maybe the one after that, depending on how long I make it) the story will finaallyyyy get started; in case you've been wondering/getting bored with how slowly things have been going so far.**

**On another note, I would quite like some feedback *hint hint***

**:)**

**Enjoy**

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

In the week that follows Magnus' meeting with Delilah, he has two clients booked in, neither of which he has helped before. He is not sure if this is a good thing or not. On one hand, it means he will not have to deal with the faux-sympathetic I-heard-about-your-break-up-with-that-Shadowhunter look. On the other, people who did not know him tended to be extremely obnoxious and then still expect his help.

A few hours into the morning monotony which had become commonplace in his life recently, the familiar buzz of Magnus' doorbell echoed across the hall. Magnus sighed, partly in relief at the thought of distraction from his mental wanderings - to the Institute, always to the Institute - and partly in annoyance at the idea of having to socialise. He pressed the button next to his door and waited for his client to ascend the metal staircase, he hadn't bothered to note down their name. Or their species, for that matter.

Magnus took a step back from the door and waited for the click of the handle. There was a minute creak as the door was pushed open and Magnus attempted to force his face into its usual, somewhat disdainful, expression.

"Yes?" He snapped wearily at the... Ifrit? Werewolf? Vampire? Magnus didn't have a clue. Whoever it was, they looked mildly terrified by Magnus' way of addressing them. The... Person took a deep breath and at once seemed calmer.

"I need you to summon a demon," He began, looking Magnus firmly in the eye. The warlock merely raised an eyebrow. "Uh...Please...?" He finished with a weak smile.

"For any particular reason or are you just in desperate need to fill an empty seat at a dinner party?" The cat-eyed man asked, fully aware that he was being unecessarily rude. Oh well, he didn't have anyone to admonish his manners; not anymo- 'Shut up!' the warlock told himself, 'You don't need to be thinking about him now." Magnus looked up to see his client deeply absorbed in his own thoughts. He sighed and summoned a compact so he could take advantage of the opportunity to touch up his (probably flawless) make-up. It was a sparkling eyeshadow made of real silver to match his silver waistcoat (without anything worn beneath it) and black PVC trousers.

After a few moments of silence, in which the warlock spruced himself up, there was a loud, strangled meow from the Chairman. Magnus jumped and accidentally sent his make-up flying. The other man in the room let out an angry hiss. Werewolf then.

"Two weeks ago," The werewolf growled. "a demon escaped and murdered my sister but, before I had the time to avenge her, the Shadowhunters," He spat out the word."Had killed it and sent it back to its home world. I need you to bring it back so I can kill it properly - make it suffer."

"Let me get this straight - you want me to summon a demon which is already dead so you can kill it. Again."

"Yes." The werewolf replied. Magnus rolled his perfectly made up eyes.

"It'll cost you."

"Just name a figure - I'll pay anything," The kicker of Chairman Meow replied. Magnus plucked a random number from thin air and sent the werewolf on his way, telling him he'd summon the demon on Thursday week.

* * *

Magnus sat on his couch wondering when The Real Housewives of New York became the most exciting part of his days - wasn't there a time he'd be partying every other night. He remembered slowing down on that front slightly as Alec had hated parties. Hell. He really didn't need to be thinking of him now.

By the time the bell finally rang a few hours later, Magnus had watched three episodes (and discovered the existence of Brooklyn Fashion Weekend - he'd have to investigate that next time), drank four cups of tea (a habit he'd got into during his stay in London in the second half of the 19th century, when it was a recent creation, and never really got out of), rearranged his furniture twice and fed Chairman Meow. He buzzed his next client in and waited for them to make their way up the stairs.

"Hi," Magnus looked up at the voice. It had come from a man dressed all in white - white skinny jeans, white shirt, white brogues and a white leather jacket. Magnus didn't think he'd quite understood the concept of monochrome.

"Yes?" The warlock asked, imperiously. The stranger looked up at him from under brown eyelashes and offered a small smile, his green eyes a fraction wider than, perhaps, was normal. His eyes then left Magnus' to glance around the room.

"Nice place," He said charmingly, with a Mancunian accent that had not quite come across in his earlier greeting. "You must be well good at interior design. I'm pretty rubbish, myself - can't really distinguish between scarlet and, like, pale crimson, or whatever." Magnus wondered what had happened to the English language since he had last visited the Isles. He also wondered when the man would get to the point.

"Interesting." The warlock replied in a way which implied the complete opposite. His client smiled at the 'compliment', however.

"Oh! I'm Leonard, by the way. Sorry - so rude of me not to introduce myself before," The man laughed, looking at Magnus with all the confidence of someone who very rarely did not receive what they wanted. Magnus opened his mouth to speak but then the Mancunian was speaking again.

"I'm never really that rude, honestly," He laughed. "Just a bit nervous - y'know? You're all..." He waved his hand vaguely in Magnus' direction. "Intimidating."

Magnus faked a non-commital laugh and wondered when the hell 'Leonard' was actually going to say why he'd made the damn appointment. He tried to keep his irritation invisible though, he had a firm rule to never be too rude to clients.

"Have you had lunch already? 'Cause I'm quite hungry so if you haven't then-" Magnus cut him off with a loud sigh.

"For what purpose did you make this appointment?," He demanded, out of patience. "Spell? Potion? Wards? What is it you want?"

Leonard smirked at him. "Anger's a good look on you." Sparks flew from Magnus' fingers. "I mean it," The man continued, "Your eyes go even more bright and it brings out the yellow - makes you look even fitter." He winked.

Magnus' hands were glowing in blue now as he tried to quell his rage. Why the hell was this man flirting with him? Magnus shook away the obvious answer.

"For the last time," Magnus said, through gritted teeth. "Why. Are. You. Here." The man finally caught his eye and gave Magnus a flirty and borderline-sheepish smile, pairing it with a somewhat embarrassed laugh.

"Well, I actually don't really need any help per se but I thought it would be a good excuse to see you," Leonard laughed and made to continue before Magnus cut him off.

"How dare you waste my time? There are people who could be in dire situations - people I could be helping!" Magnus' voice was rising and the air around him was beginning to crackle with electricity. "You do not have any right to come here and interrupt my work - get out. Now." Magnus' voice was reaching a crescendo but the other man refused to move an inch, seeming to find the situation wholely amusing. This, of course, only enraged Magnus further. "GET OUT!" He roared. Leonard was picked up by his magic and flung from the room with a loud bang.

This did not dispell all of Magnus' fury, however, and he shouted in rage as he stormed through his appartment - sending sparks flying everywhere and setting various things alight. Pure, unadulterated anger was pulsing through his body which was lit up in cerulean flames. Streaks of lightning flew from his fingers and from the ends of his hair, filling the air with dangerous light and making the rooms go cold.

Eventually, after hours of this, Magnus collapsed into bed with exhaustion. He fell asleep instantly.


	4. Chapter 4

**I know that this chapterlet is ridiculously short but I wanted to have the beginning of the actual story bit together. Um, I may have the next bit up at some point during this weekend but maybe not as I have a LOT of homework/revision to do and THE DOCTOR WHO 50TH ANNIVERSARY EPISODE IS ON TONIGHT -ARGH 6 HOURS AND 15 MINUTES TO GO! ASDFGHJKL;**

**If you would like to share in my enthusiasm for this then pleease review.**

**Or, y'know, review anyway**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

On the gridded streets of New York, yellow taxis jostled against shiny cars to a soundtrack of overhead planes and drunken ramblings. The half moon was gleaming in the dark sapphire sky above the city, its light almost blotted out by the neon signs below. In his Brooklyn apartment, Magnus Bane was asleep. He was not lying calmly in his bed as you might usually expect from someone fast asleep. He was not even tossing and turning with random interludes of snoring. No, because he hadn't taken the necessary preventative potion the preceding day, Magnus was sleepwalking.

He'd paced his apartment a few times **(I really hope someone got that reference haha)** with an increasing franticness in his bones. It was almost as if his subconscious mind was searching for something. Someone, perhaps.

The sleeping warlock entered the room in which he kept the potions that were ready to be delivered to the person by whom they had been ordered. Walking towards the shelves with his arm outstretched, -

Smash.

Magnus awoke to the unpleasant feeling of his right hand being doused in liquid - some sort of potion, no doubt. Delilah's, he assumed.

He calmly washed it off, the blue reminding him of Alec's eyes. For once, Magnus allowed himself a few minutes to revel in the memory of his Shadowhunter - still-warm cups of coffee on the kitchen counter; late nights of happiness shrouded in secret; impassioned moments of family loyalty; rushed conversation in the midst of battle. The kiss in the Hall of Accords.

Magnus felt a shudder ripple through him, accompanied with the unnerving sensation of spinning uncontrollably, although his vision did not change. He froze, suddenly recognising the symptoms - Argus' potion, not Delilah's. Magnus swore as the magic took him back to the first time he'd met Alexander.


	5. Chapter 5

**Argh! I'm so sorry for not posting any form of chapterish thing last week - reality got in the way, I really hate it when it does that...**

**Anyway :)**

**I don't know how long this chapter is going to be (maybe not very - sorry my loves) as I'm writing it at this moment when I should really be in bed as I need to get up early to do my homework and start fundraising for World Challenge - any ideas would be greatly, greatly appreciated :)**

**Enjoy **

***silently hopes people will review* **

* * *

Immediately, Magnus was struck by a wall of thick air - pounding music, thick sweaty air, the overpowering scent of pure magic. He stumbled, hitting his ankle on the door frame and watching in fascination as it simply went through it. It was one to thing to understand the science of magic, Magnus thought, but experiencing it was another entirely.

Part of his mind thought that he could slink back to his bedroom and reside there until the potion pulled him into another time, not catching any sight of Alec. Even Magnus could acknowledge that the likelihood of this happening was nothing short of minute - how could he possibly turn down the chance to see the eldest Lightwood while he was still allowed to?

There was a loud clanging noise coming from the vague vicinity of the lounge, and so Magnus decided to investigate. Not that he really needed to, given that all this had happened months ago.

It was a fight between two vampires. One was being flung against the wall. How uninteresting. Magnus could hardly remember the feeling of living in a world outside of the greyscale shadow his had become. Alec had been blue eyes with the echo of every shade of technicolour and confetti laughs. Alabaster skin inked with runes the black of their most eventful nights."Cloudless climes and starry skies," Magnus thought to himself sardonically, hating himself for getting so damn poetic.

The doorbell rang and Magnus found his veins suddenly filled with frantic energy. He ran through his house (and various people - that was highly disconcerting) until he was standing right in front of his old front door. He'd missed it since his redecoration but Alec had come through that door and that was enough of a reminder for it to be included in his purge of all things Shadowhunter-related. _  
_

Alec had come through that door. Alec was_ about to come through that door. _For the first time.

A joyous smile spread across Magnus' face of its own accord. He didn't even bother to attempt to rearrange it into its usual expression of disdain - he didn't need to pretend while he was here. He was allowed to just enjoy, to revel, in everything about Alexander that had captured his love the first time.

The version of himself, who had now arrived at the door, that belonged in this time put his hand through Magnus' arm. A jolt of shock went through his heart as he was pulled into the mind of his past self, the thoughts of which seemed to be that of a stranger's.

"Of course - this Magnus is pre-Alec," the warlock thought, fully aware of the effect the lonely Shadowhunter had had upon him.

A hand that was not his own reached forward to pull the door open, Magnus braced himself as a shot of excitement pulsed through him.

* * *

**I promise I will write more tomorrow - I need to look over how the meeting goes in CoB and check through any references to it in TBC - there must be some in What To Buy The Shadowhunter...**

**I can't do this now 'cause I should be asleep so...**

**Have a lovely day :)**


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